


How to Care for a Stubborn Idiot

by dweetwise



Series: Breaking Down the Walls [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Confessions, David is just an idiot, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, M/M, One Shot, Quentin is the stubborn idiot, Size Kink, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26265409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dweetwise/pseuds/dweetwise
Summary: Quentin has been crushing hard on David, but it feels like every interaction they have ends in an argument.When David suddenly seeks him out and isn't picking a fight, Quentin isn't sure what to make of it.
Relationships: David King/Quentin Smith
Series: Breaking Down the Walls [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1908616
Kudos: 63





	How to Care for a Stubborn Idiot

**Author's Note:**

> continuation/parallel of my steve/dwight fic where i shoved this side ship in everyone's face. so here's a proper fic to do them justice!

Quentin power-walks through the forest, breath coming out in angry puffs of air and hands balling into fists. He grits his teeth and tries not to scream in frustration.

Why did David have to be such an asshole?

* * *

“I fucking hate being moried by oni,” Nea had started the conversation back at the campfire, kicking at one of the logs. “The headache lasts for days.”

“I feel you. I always yell ‘not the face!’, but he never listens,” Ace joked. “I actually felt my eyeball pop out last time.”

“Ew!” Jane protested the description, a disgusted expression on her face.

“Eh, I don't mind samurai dude's mori. It's not like my face can get any more fucked up,” Quentin joked.

Nea snorted and Ace grinned in approval, while Jane sighed and Dwight managed a shaky smile. So it wasn't his best joke, but the self-deprecating humor was kind of Quentin's shtick, especially these days.

“Shut up,” David suddenly growled, leaned against a tree at the edge of camp.

“What?” Quentin snapped.

“Quit sayin' things like that. It ain't fuckin' funny,” David glared, and Quentin glared right back.

“Alright, David—” Bill was about to step in.

“Fuck _you_ ,” Quentin interrupted, pushing past the veteran to square up against David. “Maybe you should do something other than criticize me?”

“An’ maybe you should care more about gettin' killed!” David shot back, pushing off of the tree and doing his best to loom over Quentin. But Quentin had never been intimidated by the scrapper's burly body and the inch he had on him in height, and he wasn't about to start now.

“Dying every day kind of has that effect!” Quentin argued.

“Sometimes ya don't even _try!_ ” David countered.

So maybe he gave up on his first or second hook every now and then. Maybe he occasionally ran to the killer instead of looking for hatch. And maybe he sometimes just sat in a corner and waited for endgame to kill him instead of trying to open an exit.

“Well I'm _sorry_ for fucking up your precious trials, but at this point I really don't give a shit!” Quentin yelled.

“Ya _should_ give a shit, an' you shouldn't talk like 'at!” David shouted.

Quentin felt angry tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He knew he could be dead weight in the trials, but there were times when he just couldn't deal. He was trying his best, but he knew it wasn’t enough.

He also knew he had a stupid crush on David and hearing him criticize him was making his heart throb painfully. He didn't need David's harsh words to realize what a fuck-up he was.

“What the fuck ever!” Quentin exclaimed, throwing his hands up and stomping off into the woods.

* * *

And that’s how Quentin finds himself here, looking around the woods and finally finding a rock that's not covered in moss. He slumps down onto it, burying his face in his hands and letting out a long sigh. He's still a little angry, but mostly he's just _so. Fucking. Tired._

It takes him a heartbeat to realize there's the sound of cracking branches and footsteps on muddy ground in the direction he came from. Did someone follow him?

David's face appears between two trees and Quentin doesn't know whether to be annoyed or relieved.

“Hey,” David greets him, voice soft and looking bashful, a stark contrast to their earlier fight.

“What do you want?” Quentin snaps, but it lacks any real bite.

“To apologize,” David says, apparently noticing Quentin's lack of hostility and sitting down on the rock. “Sorry fer yellin' at ya.”

“Nah, you're fine. Might as well call me out on how useless I am,” Quentin mutters, wringing his hands together in a nervous tick. 

Fuck, their knees are touching. David probably doesn't even notice, but he's not a creep like Quentin, either.

“But 'm _not_ sorry about what I said,” David says, frowning. “Ya need to take care of yerself.”

“So you're, what? _Worried_ for me?” Quentin snorts.

“'f course,” David says, still frowning.

Quentin pauses. What the fuck?

“Why?” Quentin asks.

David averts his eyes, which is a little weird.

“'cause yer my mate,” he says. “An' I care about ya.”

Quentin's eyebrows pinch together while he scrutinizes David's face. The brawler is still not meeting his eyes, and he's scratching at his neck self-consciously. Could it be that David has some sort of feelings for him? Maybe it's just wishful thinking. Probably he's just constipated or something.

Quentin snorts.

“Wha'?” David asks, a little offended, but at least he's looking at Quentin again.

“Didn't take you for such a softie,” Quentin teases.

“Yeah, well don't tell no one,” David grins, bumping their knees together.

And then David's thigh stays pressed up against Quentin's. But he's probably just imagining it.

“I don't know about that. What's in it for me?” Quentin snarks, returning the grin. Hopefully David doesn't hear his heart trying to hammer out of his chest at their proximity.

“What do ya want?” David asks, repeating his earlier question much more tactfully. The grin has softened into a relaxed smile, like he knows something Quentin doesn't.

And then David's hand is on his knee. It's a gentle touch, just holding his hand there. But David's always been a little touchy-feely, probably a remnant from his rugby days. It doesn't mean anything, and fuck, Quentin just hopes he's not blushing.

“Hmm,” Quentin pretends to mull over the question. “A purple med-kit, and some party streamers. Oh, and one of those nectar vial charms!”

“Counter offer,” David says, and Quentin rolls his eyes exaggeratedly while he tried not to panic over how David is leaning unnecessarily close. He probably just wants to make a point. “Two med-kits, all the anniversary cakes I got left, and…”

The hand on his knee squeezes.

“A kiss?” David murmurs.

Quentin's eyes fly wide open. So he wasn't imagining things? Is David messing with him? He searches the other's eyes and finds nothing but fondness and nervousness. And David, the King himself, being nervous, because of _him?_

Quentin closes the gap between them before he’s even consciously decided to do so.

He kisses a little cautiously at first, still worried that it's all just a fucked-up prank. But David sighs against his lips, a small and silent action that somehow manages to reassure Quentin that he wants this just as much as him, if not even more.

So Quentin goes all in, leaning further into David and resting his hands on his shoulders while moving his lips against the other's chapped ones. David responds just as eagerly, a hand sneaking under his beanie to massage his scalp while the other moves to wrap loosely around his hip.

When David bites at his bottom lip, Quentin lets out a groan. Damn it, he's getting really turned on from just a kiss.

“Bloody hell, luv,” David groans against his lips before diving back in, his tongue thrusting between Quentin's parted lips to deepen the kiss.

The nickname makes Quentin's head spin even more, and he’s _so_ on board with adding tongue, hands finding the collar of David's unnecessarily open shirt and pulling him even closer. Their tongues tangle together and Quentin puts up a valiant fight, even though he really wants David to win the battle for dominance.

David feels so incredibly solid under his touch, the hard muscles rippling with movement as he shifts even closer, his arm wrapping tighter around Quentin.

A small part of Quentin's brain is yelling to talk about this before things escalate, but his entire body is screaming for it to shut the fuck up and roll with it. He never thought he'd actually get a chance with David, and he wants to stop thinking and just enjoy the moment until he inevitably fucks up.

So he does the only thing that seems right at that moment; grabs at David's junk through his loose cargos.

David lets out something between a grunt and a yelp against his lips, which would make Quentin snort in amusement if he wasn't completely mesmerized by the warm hardness of a dick straining against the pants and Quentin's hand.

“Quen,” David breathes against his lips. Emboldened by the reaction, Quentin palms at the dick in earnest, feeling it harden under his touch. Jesus, it feels _big_ , and he runs his fingers along the outline as his mouth waters from anticipation.

“Quen, stop it,” David is suddenly saying and grabbing his wrist firmly, pulling his hand away.

Quentin blinks up at David through his lust-addled brain, and then realizes David rejected him.

“Oh—shit,” Quentin says, pulling away from David in shame. “Fuck. Sorry.”

“Get back 'ere,” David says, yanking on his wrist playfully. “Yer fine. I just… got a wee bit excited there fer a minute,” he grins apologetically.

“Why's that bad?” Quentin asks, frowning. He wants David, and David wants him—at least for now. Worrying can come later.

David pauses, eyes searching his face for… something?

“I dun wan' this to be a one time thing,” David says, voice rough from the kissing. “An' yer actin' like it is.”

“So… what? You want to date me?” he jokes, but then David grins and nods.

“Ya wanna?” David says, and he looks so hopeful, like he can't believe Quentin is actually going along with this.

Quentin does a double take, blinking stupidly a couple times as he takes in the information. He does his best to shove down all the ‘why’s and ‘how’s that surface because of his insecurity, trying to only focus on the man beside him.

The gorgeous man that, for some crazy reason, wants to date him.

“Yeah,” he says, sounding a lot more hesitant than he'd like, but apparently it's good enough for David, who grins like an idiot.

“Ya just made me the happiest man alive,” David beams.

“Don't people usually say that when they, like, get married?” Quentin snarks, poking David in the arm lightheartedly.

“Maybe. Dun care, it's true,” David smiles and pokes him back, and Quentin's heart melts at the sappy sentiment. So David is kind of an idiot, but now he's Quentin's idiot.

“Always wanted ta see ya look at me like 'at,” David murmurs, breaking him out of his mushy thoughts.

“Huh?”

“Why do ya think I started bein’ shirtless all of a sudden? Wanted ya to notice me,” David says, nipping at Quentin's lip playfully.

“I'd, uh,” Quentin starts, before clearing his throat. “Have to be pretty blind not to notice. Even the killers keep ogling you."

“We all got our insecurities,” David says, nuzzling into his cheek. “I know me face 's fucked up. So I wanted to show ya my best assets.”

“You're delusional, you look like a fucking model,” Quentin argues, pulling back to take in David's 'fucked up' face. Sure, his nose is a little crooked, probably having been broken one too many times, and he has some faint acne scarring, but it all just adds to his rugged charm. "You’re so out of my league it's not even funny.”

“Now who's bein' delusional?" David protests arching an eyebrow. "Yer cute as a button, and ya got a fantastic body,” he continues, voice dropping into a low murmur as his hands run over Quentin's back and shoulders appreciatively.

So Quentin was never particularly insecure about his body, but he's far from confident either. He knows he has a decent build from swimming, but he's never lifted in his life, and he sure as hell doesn't have a six pack like David.

“Yer feisty, and so bloody stubborn,” David continues, smiling fondly. “Yer precious to me.”

Quentin doesn't have a snarky comeback to revert to, merely blushing from the compliments. So instead, he climbs onto David's lap so he can kiss him properly and won't have to use his words.

They pick up the kiss from where they left off. David is so warm, his hard body surrounding Quentin in a cage he never wants to leave, and Quentin can’t stop himself from licking into his mouth needily.

And then everything gets so much hotter when large hands find his ass and _squeeze_.

“Bloody hell, Quen,” David groans against his lips. “Yer arse is divine.”

“Thought you—ah! Didn't want to fuck,” Quentin says, slightly out of breath after the kiss. He grinds against David's crotch, pleased to feel a hardness straining against the fabric.

“‘Want’ an' ‘should’ are two—shit—very different things,” David grunts, pulling Quentin closer by his ass and grinding his hips up against him.

“Patience is overrated,” Quentin quips, gasping when David's clothed erection presses firmly against his own.

David is silent, panting against Quentin's neck and seeming to struggle with himself.

“We don't have to go all the way,” Quentin reassures, and only then realizes he's been unconsciously humping down into David's lap to keep the delicious friction on his dick. “We can just keep doing this,” he emphasizes his point with a heavy grind, letting out a cut-off moan at the action.

“Yer sure?” David says, looking up at Quentin dry humping him, and carefully starts meeting his thrusts again.

“Fuck, yeah,” Quentin sighs happily. “Just let me come, please, you feel so good—”

David groans and captures his lips, tongue spearing into his mouth while he pulls Quentin down harder on his dick. Quentin mewls into the kiss, and then the firm hands leave his ass to start tugging on his zipper.

“Yesss,” Quentin sighs, eager for anything David is comfortable with giving him. He would have been happy with coming in his pants like a teenager, but the sharp zipper of his jeans was getting a little uncomfortable.

David fishes out his junk from his boxers and strokes him experimentally. When Quentin moans, David spits into his hand and starts jacking him off earnestly. Quentin whines and grabs at David, eyes screwing shut and mouth hanging open from the incredible tightness of his fist.

“God, look at ya,” David breathes, voice rough. Quentin opens his eyes just enough to see David's intense stare on his face, eyes alight with lust.

Flushing at the intimate look, Quentin glances down and watches David jack him off instead. And, fuck, what a sight that is; Quentin isn't small by any means, but David's big hand still engulfs most of his dick and it only serves to turn him on more.

And then Quentin notices David is still very hard and still tragically confined in his pants.

“Let me do you too,” Quentin pleads, resisting the urge to dive into David's pants without permission.

David leans in to kiss him, unhanding his dick to unbuckle his own belt and fumble with the fabric. Quentin kisses him back sloppily, too distracted by the anticipation of finally getting to see David naked.

Mid-kiss, David grabs his hand and guides it lower and then there's a very hot, very solid cock in Quentin's hand. He squeezes and David's breath hitches and _holy shit it's so big_ —

Quentin pushes David away with his left hand because he's _not_ missing this, even leaning back a little so he can take in David in all his glory.

He's _thick_ , is the first thing that he notices, and the other is that he's uncut. David is European, so he should probably have guessed that, but it's still a little new and exciting. He strokes his hand up the shaft and the foreskin moves kind of funnily with the motion.

“Cool,” Quentin blurts out and flushes with embarrassment when David laughs breathlessly.

“Glad ya like it,” David grins, before his eyes flutter close and he moans as Quentin starts picking up the pace. “'At feels amazing, luv,” he praises, a fumbling hand finding Quentin's dick and mimicking the movement.

“David—” Quentin whines as his body twitches at the contact, unconsciously thrusting his hips into David's fist.

“ _Quen_ ,” David breathes in adoration, and Quentin squeezes his eyes shut and whimpers, leaning into David and burying his face between his neck and shoulder.

“Ah, ah, _fuck_ , David—” Quentin moans against the skin, his hand roughly jerking David's leaking cock, his own hips humping desperately into David's hand. He can feel himself getting close, biting into the soft flesh of David's neck just beside his rose tattoo to stifle his desperate whines.

“'M close,” David grunts, tilting his head to give Quentin better access to his neck, his cock twitching in Quentin's hand. Something about the confession does it to Quentin, and his rapidly approaching release hits him like a truck.

“I'm coming—” he warns, his body tensing up and biting down on David's neck to muffle a scream as his cock pulses and spills in David's hand.

“Fuck, that's it luv, give it to me,” David grunts, his own hips starting to snap up into Quentin's stilled hand, effortlessly lifting then both off of the rock. Quentin regains some of his wits, resuming the strokes of his hand, squeezing tight around David and leaning back to get a better look.

“F-fuck,” Quentin swears shakily once he sees he managed to shoot his load all over his own hand and David's cock. David doesn't seem to mind, if anything the sight spurs him on as he stares down at the sight of Quentin's hand flying over his cock, his mouth hanging open and face flushed from pleasure. “I came all over you,” Quentin breathes, taking a gamble and looking at David's face to gauge his reaction.

The risk pays off when David throws his head back and chokes on a moan, his eyes squeezing shut and hips stuttering into Quentin's hand as he comes, spurts of his release shooting up and landing on his shirt and exposed chest.

Quentin slows down his hand and strokes him through it, David's rough pants in his ear while he comes down from his orgasm. Quentin leans to kiss at his neck, peppering the bruising flesh with affection.

“God, yer so good,” David sighs, non-soiled hand tangling in his hair and coaxing Quentin's head up for a kiss.

He happily kisses back, a lot less urgent than before but just as sensual. Relief spreads through him at the knowledge that David still wants him.

“How ya feelin'? Doin' alright?” David murmurs when they pull apart, hand stroking his hair and searching Quentin's face curiously.

“Me? _You’re_ the one covered in bruises,” Quentin points out, meaningfully looking over his neck. “Err, sorry about that, by the way.”

“Yer fine. I can take a lot more than 'at,” David merely grins in response, raising his eyebrows suggestively, and Quentin feels heat rising up on his cheeks.

“T-to answer your question,” Quentin stammers, trying to ignore his face flushing and all the different mental images of rough sex with David flooding his brain. “I'm okay. More than okay, I'm great. This was great.”

Fucking hell, why is he so awkward? They just had each other's dicks in their hands, for crying out loud!

“It was," David agrees and thankfully doesn't tease him, instead going in for a quick peck. “Ya still want this? The dating thing?”

Quentin resists the urge to scoff in annoyance; like the dating was even his idea! Is David having second thoughts?

“Only if you want to,” he murmurs, feeling a little self-conscious.

Oblivious to his inner turmoil, David just smiles brightly and leans in for a long smooch.

“I meant what I said before. Nuthin' would make me happier,” he says, melting away Quentin's insecurities. 

He allows himself to kiss David some more, wrapping his arms around his neck while the other hums softly into his mouth.

Eventually they get dressed and clean themselves up, which mostly involves cleaning up David from their combined spunk, David's unfortunate shirt getting chosen for the task. He doesn't seem to mind the garment getting soiled, and Quentin sure as hell doesn't mind getting to see his naked torso.

“Lucky I'm always shirtless, yeah?” David snickers. “No one's even gonna notice somethin's happened.”

“Mm-hmm,” Quentin says, zoning out and staring at David's rippling muscles as he bunches up the garment and starts wiping his chest. So the others won't know exactly what they got up to, but the angry hickies don't leave much to the imagination.

Quentin doesn't regret a thing; on the contrary, he feels a weird sense of pride for marking David up. Maybe Kate and Ace will finally stop flirting with _his_ man—

Quentin clears his throat and blushes from the possessive thoughts, and only then notices David is standing still and looking at him with a shit-eating grin.

“What?” Quentin scoffs.

“I'll never get tired of ya lookin' at me like 'at,” David purrs, and Quentin rolls his eyes and starts dragging him back to the campfire before they end up going for round two (and three, and four) and manage to worry the others with their absence.


End file.
